


Soldier

by ceywoozle, stilesstilerstyle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Come play, M/M, Public Sex, Spanking, Voyeurism, dub con, soldier John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesstilerstyle/pseuds/stilesstilerstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part of the one word bottomjohn prompt series.</p><p>RP fic style. John POV by stilesstilerstyles, Sholto POV by ceywoozle.</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>sholto has a point to make, and he makes it in front of a room full of soldiers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> RP fic style. John POV by stilesstilerstyles, Sholto POV by ceywoozle.

John’s skin is tingling. He stares at his commanding officer, jaw dropped,face flushed, chest heaving.

He doesn’t know if he’s heard right.

His peers are standing and sitting all around,watching and listening intently, all of them silent.

_Take your clothes off._

John clears his throat, licking his lips. He’s confused.

What is he doing? They only ever do that in private, nobody else knows.

He straightens his posture and says politely, but firmly: “I don’t think that would be appropriate sir.”

Staring right into his eyes he puts as much warning into it as he can.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sholto’s face is impassive, his lips in a straight line. It’s his commander face, the one everyone knows means business, that this is not the time for doubts or grumbles or rolled eyes.

He stares at John Watson, sitting on the lower bunk, hands clenched at obedient sides. The barrack is almost full but it’s utterly silent. Everyone is staring at them, everyone is waiting.

“I said, soldier,  _take off your clothes.”_

He waits for an argument. A denial. Something. Anything. But he knows his Watson. Sholto’s been watching him carefully for the past few months. Remembered the things he’s said, the things he’s done, the things he’s not said.

It’s a commander’s job to look after his men. He knows John Watson. He knows what John Watson needs, even when he won’t admit it out loud.

Sholto intends to see that he gets it.

~~~~~~~~~~

John flushes hot as he stands up, his eyes never leaving Sholto’s stoic face. He moves to stand right opposite him.

He clenches his hands into fists by his sides and relaxes them again. Then he says as calmly as he can muster: “Yes sir.”

He moves his trembling fingers up to his undershirt.

He pulls it over his head, dropping it to the floor beside him.

His chest is defined from the army, nicely sculpted muscles adorn his chest and abdomen. His dog tags dangle around his neck.

With his jaw set he thinks about his next decision.

He would have to take his boots off, if he doesn’t want to look like an utter idiot, standing there with his trousers stuck around his ankles.

Sholto’s face betrays no emotion whatsoever, but John knows what lies beneath. Want and need. Something uncontrolled and beautiful. John likes to play with it, even though it can get dangerous at times.

He has two choices. The first one would be to bend over, sticking his arse up high in the air, showing it off to all the other men watching, or he can go down on one knee to untie his laces. Both show a sign of submission.

Clearly, he is already submitting since he is doing as he’s told, but he still likes to think that he could do something that Sholto would not expect.

So he puts his boot up on the closest bunk, and leans down slightly to forcefully tear his laces apart. A small smile flashes across his features, knowing that was not what had been expected.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sholto doesn’t smile. It’s not his part right now to smile. Smiles are for when they’re private. When everything is soft.

This moment is not for softness. It’s not for privacy.

Around him, the whole room shifts at once as John puts his foot up on the bed, pulling his laces apart, his eyes never leaving Sholto’s face. Daring him to comment. The quiet rustle of thirty indrawn breaths. Sholto can feel tension in the room, everyone waiting to see what will happen, what this is about.

He stands there and watches, impassive and endlessly patient, as John kicks off first one boot and then the other. Watches as those hands go to the belt at his waist, unshaking and utterly sure.

His Watson. He’s always been a terrible soldier in some ways, his need for risk far more of a driving force than his desire to take orders, and that’s what a soldier is: someone who takes orders.

It’s been trained into John, though, as it’s been trained into all of them. Don’t think, just do. And John, though he does it, always inwardly resents it. Always feels the need to fight.

Sholto watches those fingers deliberately making their way down the buttons of his trousers. He hears the indrawn breath from the men closest as they see at the same time that he does, John’s cock, upright and already hard as the flies part between his hands.

 _My Watson,_  Sholto thinks smugly to himself.

He knew how this would go.

~~~~~~~~~~

John pushes his trousers past his hard cock, letting them pool around his ankles he steps out of them. He can feel thirty pairs of eyes on him, on his most private place.

Even thought everyone has seen everyone naked at some point, rarely anyone was ever this hard when there was such an occasion.

John was putting on a show. Of course for all of them in there but mostly for his commanding officer, not only in battle, but also in private.

When he’s completely naked except for his dog tags clinking around his neck, he gets into military stance. Chin up, straight back, hands behind his back.

He can hear some of the men around them whispering with each other, he hears quiet laughter, but he ignores it.

It’s not time to fold, it never is when he is ordered to do something by his commander.

He stands, listens, watches and waits for his next task to be ordered from him.

~~~~~~~~~~

God he’s beautiful. Sholto looks at the compact frame before him, utterly exposed, and he sees the pride in it, the stubborn wilfulness that even now has him displaying himself without even a blink.

He hears whispers, laughter around him, none of it loud, all of it more than a little nervous. He wonders how many of them really know what’s going to happen next. If they understand where this is going, that it’s not just a particularly embarrassing physical inspection. They’ve all seen each other naked before. They’ve all heard each other wanking off in the dark, after lights out. It’s just how it is in the army.

He wonders though, with a suppressed glee that he is careful not to let show, what reaction his next command will bring.

“Bend over, soldier. Hands on the bed, arse to me, and spread your legs.”

~~~~~~~~~~

John’s eyes widen slightly at the command. He didn’t think that Sholto would get down to it so quickly.

He can hear the men around him gasp with surprise, and he hears murmuring, which sounds curious.

He keeps himself from shuddering, and keeps his eyes trained on Sholto for a moment, waiting a few seconds.

He can see the curiosity in Sholto’s eyes, nobody else knows him well enough to be able to distinguish it from all his other expressions, which are almost all the same.

He feels hot, and his cock twitches as he makes the conscious decision, which earns himself a few cheers from the watching crowd. He nods sharply and then does as he is instructed. Bending over slowly he thinks to himself that he might as well make the best of it. So he arches his back, and moves his legs apart, showing off his nicely shaped cheeks.

He hears open laughter now from all sides, but it doesn’t sound mocking, or ridiculing. There’s jealousy audible. Not sure if he imagined them, he ignores the scattered groans.

~~~~~~~~~~

It actually takes a Sholto a minute to control himself. He can practically see the smirk in the way John arches his back and flexes his arse, utterly cheeky. Sholto wants to laugh with delight at this creature,  _his_  creature. And there is nothing that he wants more right now than to prove it to everyone else. To the room full of expectant soldiers, their breaths coming fast and audible now, the quiet excited chatter. He intends to show all of them what a glorious treasure this man is.

He steps forward, his hands already on his own belt, already dragging at the buttons of his flies. John is naked but all Sholto needs for this is his cock, and he pulls it out, already straining to find its familiar place.

He is close enough now that he can see the slight shaking of John’s body, the tension present, but it’s not with fear or humiliation. It’s excitement, and for the first time unable to hide the smirk from his face, he reaches out and lets the palm of his hand smack loudly against John’s presented arse.

~~~~~~~~~~

John gasps and his eyes flutter closed at the stinging slap on his arse. He wants to forget that there are people around them, watching, seeing everything and all of him.

And he loves it. He hates that he loves it so much.

He wants Sholto to show them all who he belongs to, he wants to be marked in front of dozens of his peers.

He can’t keep in the moan that spills from him with the next slap.

His knuckles are white, his hands tightly holding onto the bed beneath, and he can see his own cock, heavy and red and throbbing, twitching between his legs, and precome is dripping to the floor.

The people around them are coming closer, to see more, hear more. They want to experience the whole spectacle as close as they can. Or rather, as close as Sholto lets them.

~~~~~~~~~~

John’s arse becomes red under his hand, the stinging slaps bringing up the blood and he watches as the flush mounts in other places as well, crawling across John’s whole back. He can see John trying to shut things out, trying to deny the barrack, the humiliation, the thirty other men slowly creeping closer to get a better look. He sees several of them out of the corner of his eye, surreptitious hands creeping towards their own cocks, their open-mouthed arousal. Sholto suspects he’s fulfilling several different fantasies right now, probably creating even more.

John is pushing into him now, his arse rising with every slap of Sholto’s hand, seeking the stinging contact of flesh on flesh. Sholto is counting them off in his head and when he reaches thirty he stops.

The entire barrack is loud with tension and panting breath, the rustle of clothes and the quiet groans of the soldiers trying to be quiet as they wank themselves off.

John himself is panting, a small moaning exhalation that Sholto recognises as something tortured and ashamed.

He frowns, leans forward, letting his hands cup that sore and reddened arse. John pushes into his palms with an agonised sound.

“Chin up, soldier,” Sholto says, and he pitches his voice so everyone in the room can hear him, so that every soldier now slowly sliding hands into trousers has no doubt whatsoever about what’s going to happen next. “I’m going to bugger you now, and all these men are going to watch while I do it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

John is on fire, he knows what his arse must look like, red and raw and sore. He feels weak, but he chose to accept this position, and he is damn well going to pull through it.

_I’m going to bugger you now, and all these men are going to watch while I do it._

John heaves a quiet moan and sobs dryly, wantonly pushing his arse back into Sholto’s hand, the minimal contact of skin on skin driving him mad.

He wants to feel Sholto’s hips slam into him, his thick cock pulsing inside, sliding hot and wet.

He reacts almost without thinking, pulling his head up, and he says clearly: “Yes sir. Please. Fuck me.”

It feels as if all the air flees the room, and he can barely hear anyone breathe, or move. But out of the corner of his eye he can see how more than one soldier open their flies, lick their lips, and wrap their hands around themselves as they get ready for what’s to come.

John steels himself too. With half-lidded eyes he stares forward, not really seeing. He can feel the excitement, he feels it pulse through him as Sholto kneads his abused cheeks. He knows that Sholto would never let it show on his face, but he is enjoying himself immensely.

“Sir, would you please consider using lube?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sholto is crowing inside and he lets the smallest upturn of his lips show on his face now. It doesn’t make a difference. No one is watching him any more. Every eye is fixated on John Watson, naked and begging and so gloriously stoic.

Sholto gives one final smack of that red arse and feels himself almost groan at the way John flinches at the surprise contact.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, soldier,” he says flatly, but he reaches into his pocket any way, pulling out the small tube he had put there. He doesn’t warm it in his hands first like he normally does, simply lines the top of the tube up with John’s hole and squeezes.

~~~~~~~~~~

John can’t keep himself from cursing when he feels the cold lube trickling over his hole. “Fuck! Oh Jesus!”

He bucks back against Sholto, knowing that he made a mistake. _James_  doesn’t like it when he swears during sex.

All he allows John is to scream, and even then he will find a way to keep John quiet.

“Oh god, I’m sorry sir.”

He flushes hot, his arms starting to shake, since he has been putting a lot of weight on them since this started.

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a silence as everyone in the barrack holds their breath.

This is not allowed. Everyone seems to know that already. Speaking.  _Swearing._  These are things that Sholto does no allow from his soldier. Only moans, grunts, screams. Those are permissible. Sometimes.

He stops, stares at the heaving back, flushed and hot, the clear lube dripping between the clefts of John’s arse, sliding towards his balls. Sholto doesn’t say anything, though. Doesn’t need to say anything.

The sound of the lube in his hand is ominous in the otherwise silence of the barrack. Thirty men watch as he smears it over his cock. Thirty men are wide-eyed with awe and apprehension as without giving John a chance to adjust, to expect it, he thrusts his cock fully into John’s waiting body.

~~~~~~~~~~

John screams at the sudden intrusion. He knows he deserved it, he should have known better than to swear. He heaves in deep breaths, trying to get his body to adjust. It hurts, but as soon as James starts to move, pleasure washes it away, and he nearly loses his hold on the bed beneath him. He thinks that his elbows are going to buckle and that he will fall face first down, only being held by Sholto’s cock inside of him, and the harsh hands now gripping his hips.

He hears shouts of agreement, and words of encouragement _to give him what he deserves._

Moaning deeply, earth shatteringly loud it seems, pleasure rips through him.

The feeling of Sholto inside of him is something he will never get tired of, it’s so unique, and makes John feel special in a way. And now that everyone knows, everyone can see, he nearly sobs with gratitude for this open ownership.

~~~~~~~~~~

 _God_  he’s hot and the resistance of John’s body is a palpable force. John is screaming, a shattering sound, and Sholto feels the flair of satisfaction that blazes in him. He bares him teeth in an open grin for the first time.

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give John time. He fucks him, hard and fast. He digs insistent fingers into those bucking hips and can feel John trying to move away. He doesn’t let him, hanging on gamely, and within three hard strokes the resistance is gone and the cries turn into something else, something eager and wanting.

Around them, the initial cheers of the soldiers are quieting, replaced by moans, by the sound of flesh on flesh, by quiet filthy words that tell Sholto to  _fuck him harder, show him who’s boss._

And Sholto does, gripping John in place and pistoning in and out, the tight fierce pleasure of simply  _taking_  almost pulling him apart.

This won’t last long. He knows it won’t. He’s too keyed up, they both are, but there isn’t a world in which he’s letting John get away with coming second.

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t let himself gather enough breath for more than a single word, a command snapped in a tight, terse voice:  _“Come.”_

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s being filled with cheers, dirty comments and of course, Sholto’s vigorous fucking. He feels like this is a dream come true, he’d never known he’d had.

His initial attempts at keeping himself from being too loud are forgotten as he moans and cries with every hard thrust from Sholto’s hips.

 _Come._  And he does, crumpling on the inside, screaming on the outside, he feels like he’s bursting, exploding, bright and white.

It’s so intense and hot and it lasts forever. And before he’s finished coming, clenching around Sholto’s cock, around  _James,_  he can feel the grip on his hips tightening, and the thrusts stutter, get erratic.

 _“Thank you!”_  he shouts, just now feeling hot tears streak his cheeks. He wants Sholto to come, feeling his gratefulness pour into him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The clenching of John’s arse around his cock almost finishes him. Is almost too much. John’s already tight and Sholto can feel his control slipping, and when John comes, screaming and thanking Sholto at the top of his lungs, Sholto knows he has no chance.

His hips are stuttering and he couldn’t control himself any more if he tried. The men are around them, cheering lewdly, laughing and unabashedly wanking. He’s aware of more than one of them shuddering to completion even and John’s body starts to slump beneath his hands.

 _Oh no you don’t,_  he thinks, and with a wrench, seizes back a measure of self-control, grits his teeth and tightens his grip on those exhausted hips.

He can feel John start to struggle, knows when it gets too much, too sensitive, the pleasure mixing again with poignant unease and and Sholto grins and fucks him, forces himself to hold on for just a few more strokes, and only when John gives vent to a feeble plea, barely heard over the noise of the audience around them, does Sholto let himself go, dragging John into him as he thrusts one last time and comes.

~~~~~~~~~~

John slumps weakly in Sholto’s grip thanking and pleading for him to end it, because it’s too much now, too many sounds of flesh slapping on flesh, too many people moaning, too many smells.

He can’t bear it anymore, and he is ready to fall into darkness when he finally feels wet heat spread inside of him, coating his walls with Sholto’s evidence, with his mark.

Shouting one last time, wide-eyed he stares at the bed beneath him, seeing his arms tremble with exertion.

He feels himself being lowered onto the mattress, breathing heavily and deeply he wants to thank Sholto again, one last time.

He hasn’t heard what Sholto was saying after he’d come grunting and moaning John’s name. He thought it wasn’t important anymore.

But it gets darker around him now, not because he’s losing consciousness, but because his peers are coming closer still. Looming over him.

He is too exhausted to protest when he feels the first hot lines of come covering his right shoulder blade. The feeling of Sholto’s come trickling down his thighs is ever so present. And he can’t stop himself smiling with closed eyes.

_How had he known._

~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t have time to collect himself, doesn’t have time before John is falling and Sholto grabs him, his hands around his waist, lifting him and lowering him onto the bunk.

Around them, thirty men have crept closer, eyes wide, and with a decided command, Sholto sweeps a look around the room, meeting eyes, daring commentary.

“Whoever needs to come still will come on Captain Watson. That’s an order.”

The reaction is electric, eagerness easy to read in all their faces. Twelve men are pressing forward, cocks hard in their hands, wanking desperately, and Sholto stands back and watches, letting them crowd around John Watson, watching them grunt and cry out, coming in long white streaks that paint his shoulders, his stomach, his hair, his face. Sholto watches and sees the smile on John’s face, even as his eyes slip close, and Sholto knows that he got it right. That he got it exactly right.

He turns away, tucking himself back into his trousers as he does so. By the door, a single soldier is standing. He looks flushed and there’s a damp spot on the front of his trousers from where his semen had smeared.

“Murray,” Sholto says, and waits for the man to straighten and salute.

“Sir.”

“Make sure Watson gets cleaned off and is kept warm when you put him to bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sholto nods. “At ease, soldier,” and with the chorus of moans and pants still around him, he walks from the room.


End file.
